Maggie & Me review – Damian Barr’s memoir arrives on stage

Maggie and Me is Damian Barr’s memoir of growing up in Scotland in the 1980s, and if he tells you at the outset that “Maggie Thatcher was one of the few constants in my life” then that gives you a clue that this isn’t going to be a straightforward retelling or a simple coming-of-age story.

Instead the play, adapted by Barr along with James Ley from the 2013 book, is an exuberant exploration of identity and what makes us who we are, drawing its impact from its larger-than-life characters and its clever use of fragmented narrative. We see Damian (DB, as he’s often known) as a boy growing up, but also as an adult trying to get to grips with understanding his own story. As a device this works brilliantly, foreshadowing some events and echoing others in a way that pays the audience the compliment of being able to join the dots. More importantly, old Damian and young Damian talk to and bear with one another in a way that forces us to piece together their experiences just as they do, drawing us into the action and making us participants in their story.

And it’s frequently a tough story to relive. Damian’s parents divorce shortly after his father is laid off from the giant Ravenscraig steel works. His mother takes the kids to live with the horribly abusive Logan while his father takes up with his new girlfriend. Meanwhile Damian comes to terms with being gay in the homophobic environment of the 1980s while balancing his relationship with the church, his school and his peer group.

It’s a tribute to the writers that they invest such difficult material with dignity and genuine empathy. Logan’s abuse and the homophobia that Damian suffers are often hard to watch, but they’re done with remarkable sensitivity and often with hope. The moment when he comes out as gay to his friend Heather is beautifully handled, touching effectively on both the awkward truth of the situation and the joy of acceptance.

It’s never for a minute self-pitying or tearful. Instead the whole drama is shot through with humour and an overall love for life that’s infectious. There’s some deliciously well-observed ‘80s context, too, with references to things like Torvill and Dean, Strike it Lucky, Yazz and Murray Mints that could only come from one decade.

The Iron Lady herself appears as a main character, brought to life with knowing humour by a terrific Beth Marshall. She mostly speaks in Thatcherite self-help doctrine, but her political journey maps onto Damian’s personal life in a way that helps him to explain his own past and come to terms with it. Happily, she’s dealt with mostly as a figure of fun so that what little politics there is feels light touch and throwaway.

As the adult Damian, Gary Lamont is richly sympathetic throughout, but he’s all but upstaged by young DB, played with infectious energy by Sam Angell who manages to maintain the character’s wide-eyed innocence even as he ages and learns. The rest of the ensemble cast inhabit their multiple roles with electric energy that never falters. Suba Das’ direction works seamlessly to piece together the narrative’s constituent parts and to draw out the best from the performers, as do Kenneth MacLeod’s sets and Susan Bear’s sound design which are almost characters in themselves.

At nearly three hours it’s a long play, but I was completely engaged throughout, and it’s one of those shows that grows in the memory as time passes. Funny, moving and powerful in equal measure, it’s an expertly told story and it deserves to be a hit.